Sing Me To Sleep
by Screaming Mimi
Summary: My first real foray into HPFicland. Severus is a seventh year student at Hogwarts and Lucius recruits him to do a little bit of... business with the other boys and get paid for it, if you catch my drift. Chapter one of many. R&R, kindly.


Sing Me To Sleep  
  
  
  
A/N: I'll keep it short and sweet. My ever so long Harry Potter Manifesto, of sorts. I tried to keep things fairly plausible, DOUBTFUL but plausible none the less. I tried to keep everyone in character but I did take some liberties with the age of Lucius, making him the same age as Severus. Read, review, tell me what you think. You know I love reviews. Any glaring mistakes or bizarrities, tell me. Thank you kindly.  
  
Midnite. It looks much like a movie, as life tends to do, so it shall be described as a movie. What better time to start than midnight? Most things start at midnite. It's the perfect time. The room isn't brighter than the outside world. A single candle burns with an ethereal light. His eyes don't mind. His head aches in a distant sort of way, but he is too engrossed to worry about it. What else would he do besides engross himself in work? There is nothing. Never is, never was, never will be. But that, of course, is a lie and he knows it. He clears his throat as if preparing to speak. But it is midnite. There is no one but a moth making shadows on the wall. Is this company? No portion of his mind goes to this thought.   
Everyone knows him. He is subject of many angry whispers and mutterings under the breath. He is the permanent fixture of hatred. The more things change, the more they stay the same. His toes flex for warmth in their thin canvas shoes. It snowed today. A fair amount, too. Canvas sneakers get wet and stay wet in the snow. He hated the snow. Unconsciously, he kicks them off and rubs his socked feet on the floor, a desperate attempt to dry them off. It fails, but leaves streaks of wet footprints on the stone. Can you see it?Visualize this scene, this man, until you can see it crystal clear. He is hunched over his desk, hair falling his face, his eyes squinting slightly in the dim light. Can you see the picture? What if I were to tell you, seventeen years ago, at age eighteen, he was... good looking?  
Let me help you. He is younger, though he looks world weary and cynical. His face may have the same expression, but undeniably glows with that hidden light of those who don't really have anything to depressing to dwell on. Youth, in essence. His appearance is that of someone who has more important things to do than worry about how they look, yet they look good anyway. He doesn't realize how lucky he is. His hair is shorter, but unkempt and somewhat wild. It is much later, the sun is creeping over the horizon but he is in the same position. He has a small tuft of hair on his chin, a careless goatee. His stubble is growing and he looks ready to fall asleep at any moment. A stack of papers sits beside him and he is writing furiously. His toes flex in the same canvas shoes, just as grungy and old. He sits back and stretches before returning to his work.   
At last, he is complete. He admires his pages and pages of endless writing and a faint smile creeps on his face. The light in the room grows, but he pays it no attention. He sits up, grabs the papers and stuffs it in his bag. His aching legs shuffle methodically back to the path he has walked so many times and will walk more times than he can possibly imagine. He flexes his fingers, trying to work out a persistent cramp in his hand.  
You look awful. The voice shatters the glass of silence. He could hear it echo in his head and work its way through the mess sleep created. He formed an answer, surrounded by shock.  
Good... Good morning, Lucius. What-- Why are you... up so early?  
Oh my, up all night again? It's not good for you. You'll age badly. His companion I'm sure you can picture already. He is leaning comfortably in the chair, as if awaiting his arrival. He looks like every character of his type, fits every stereotype to a T. The wealthy good looks and the perfect white blonde hair so many years of pampered living has kept shiny and smooth. He is not hard to imagine. Look at the time, Severus. It's 7:15. You're almost late. He says the cool, uncaring, examining his perfect nails. The severity of this situation begins to dawn on him. He drops his jaw, his bags, he goes weak at the knees.  
I- I have to ... I was up doing the uh... I have... but... Dressed! Clothes! Where ar-- He can't think, all he wants, despite his most desperate insistences, is to fall asleep, right now. He can't think, move, do fast enough. Lucius holds up a pile of black silk.  
You can thank me later. He smirks slyly and stands. Severus stands and stares blankly. His eyes hurt when he closes them. I--uh... Thank you.  
You need to stop these all nighters. You can't even see straight. All those hours staring at nothing but words can't be good for you. These words had no caring, no true concern. It was a conditioning of his breed. He draped the silk over Severus and turned to face him.  
His eyes moved smoothly over his face, as if considering him for his worthiness. He tucked his finger under Severus' chin and turned his head slightly to the side. Severus tried desperately to match, to meet his eyes, so he could have some inkling as to what his acquaintance might be thinking. Acquaintance. Notice this choice of words. Not a friend, not a confidant, for Lucius was neither of these things. But Severus didn't have a lot of choices. So this was his choice. His life. What he chose to do with it, it wasn't what he imagined. He couldn't imagine seventeen years in the future. He couldn't imagine tomorrow. He merely hoped not to die today.   
Lucius let go of his face harshly and turned to leave. This was his cue. He was a sidekick, not his own person. He bent and took his bag and hurried out the door.   
The day passed without event, as it usually does. It snowed, and snowed some more. The world looked spattered with white paint. Poetic, he supposed. He wasn't the creative type. He cracked his knuckles and stared at the words swimming on the page. In the past ten minutes he had read this same sentence thirty five times, blinked his eyes trying to make them focus nineteen times, rubbed his eyes in a desperate attempt thirteen times and gave up once. He heard them snicker behind him but they sounded distant and vague, as if they were already outside. What had he done? He stopped asking himself years ago. The wool of his fingerless gloves itched and failed to keep his hands warm. They were wet, and made his hands feel stiff. He looked enviously at the other classmates, all with their warm hats and gloves.  
Suddenly, without anyone telling him, the class stood, and left. It was over. The day finally ended. The classes were over and he could retreat to the library for another sleepless night.  
He had grown accustomed to going hungry in the evening. If he were to ever to anything with his life, ever to get a damn job and prove himself something other than the failure everyone seemed to think he was doomed to become, he couldn't waste time on useless activities. Eating, for instance. And sleep. The day was simply too short.   
But something broke his gait to the library this evening. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back into the shadows of an unused hallway. He felt rough lips press against his, decidedly male. He felt the hand move from his shoulder down onto his back, pulling him in. This was nice. Part of him liked it, loved it, wanted to strip this figure naked. However, the majority of him, the part of him that had been conditioned over years and years of harassment, was suddenly terrified of his reluctance to back away. This could easily be one of _them_ who will then run off and tell their little friends all about his new fodder for an endless number of pranks.   
The figure broke off. I knew it. It whispered. Severus' breathing became ragged, pained. Was he right? What had he just told them?   
K-Knew what? He choked out. He could stand and fight. What other choice was there?  
Oh, don't pretend it isn't true. It's so obvious. The weight on his chest lightened. The sickening sweet voice could be none other than the epitome of wealth. Lucius.   
Obvious... what? He had thought he was so clever.  
Your fake naiveté is so old, Severus. I know you liked it. I could tell. His eyes moved down Severus' body. And I'm not wrong.   
Severus backed away, trying to hide it. This wasn't something he wanted to discuss. Particularly not with this person.  
Oh relax. I'm not going to tell anyone. You're so high-strung, you could use a vacation.  
T-that'd be... nice.  
  
B-but... I can't... you know I don't have the... It's not --possible. Silence. He couldn't tell if Lucius was moving or not. I''ll... I'll see you around. I have w-work to... do. He turned to leave but Lucius grabbed him harshly and shoved him against a wall. Severus could feel Lucius' breath on his face, his body pressed against his own.  
That's what I was talking to you about. Don't interrupt me when I'm talking to you. Severus feared him. He could feel his heart pounding in his ribcage and was sure that Lucius could feel it too. That would explain the superior smile he had on his face. I think this will interest you, Severus. So I suggest you listen. He let go of him roughly and turned to the opposite wall. Severus tried to breath again.  
I have a... well, a job for you. You'd be paid very handsomely. Not be me, but you'd make a tidy sum nonetheless. All I'd ask for is my cut.  
What .. is... what do you want me to d-do? Severus was used to doing Lucius' dirty work. There was always something that Lucius wanted Severus to risk his career for instead of himself. But he had never been paid before.  
You're not the only one, Severus... with your... preference. And, in case you haven't noticed, you have a certain... allure. Many boys find you simply _intriguing_. Lucius said this word as if he had been relishing it for quite a while and could finally spit it out. It's so hard in here, in this school, to get some good old fashion love. So many people are worried about their reputation.... That's why I'm asking you, Severus. You have no reputation.  
But... But what would I be doing? This news shocked him. He had never thought of other people, or what they thought of him.  
Giving these boys a little... something. For a price. Lucius said matter of factly, staring at Severus. The meaning of these words dawned on him. That's stupid, impossible. No one would pay for his company, no matter what that would entail. No one would even talk to him.  
It wouldn't work, Lucius. No one would want that from me. No one is that desperate.  
Are you saying I'm wrong? Are you implying I haven't given this thought, that I haven't considered other people? I have a fair amount of friends, Severus, who would be willing to do this for me. But I chose you. Now tell me, will you do it? Lucius pulled a coin out of his pocket and held it before Severus' eyes. It was gold, beautiful. He could almost feel it's pleasant coolness in his hands. He ached for the coin. In Lucius's other hand, however, Severus eyed his wand at the ready. He sensed the threat, the consequences if he turned this offer down.  
I'll do it.  
Lucius smiled in the smug way of his. I thought you might. He tossed the coin down and kissed Severus roughly. Meet me at midnight. Here. I'll be waiting. And he was gone. Severus stood still, back pressed hard against the wall, stone digging into his shoulder blades. The coin on the floor looked so appetizing. He knelt to pick it up, felt the weight in his hands. He slipped it into his pocket and enjoyed the simple feeling of it's heaviness. He hoped this would work.


End file.
